The Rules (or, Puritan Manifes-two)

Oh my god, you should hear Goody banging on the basement door! I dasn't open it even to throw her a crust of bread, for fear she'll come flying out and stab me with a scarlet L.*

I'm so enjoying this do-nothing kick, I haven't even read my papers yet today. Though I have just sent off something that I spent four hours working on (four hours today, I mean: lots of other hours otherwhen, MC), so it's not like I'm doing nothing nothing -- just nothing that Sister Good considers proper work.

Okay, so here's the deal:

One day a week I get to do nothing.

One day a week I get to do nothing on the house, but write whatever I want on this here blog.

I decide which days those are going to be when I feel like it.

Weeks go Sunday to Saturday (or, for those of you following along from some near-forgotten point in the space-time continuum: from somewhere just over my left shoulder to somewhere just over my right). So I could, for example, just write on Friday, do nothing on Saturday or Sunday, and just write again on Monday and I would still be following the rules.

I probably won't, though.

We're getting close to ready to get moving on the heating project, so anything related to that counts. Being home to let somebody in to measure something, counts.

Starting tomorrow.

And not counting my birthday.

Which is soon.

Now here's a little something for y'all to chew on 'til the morrow...

*Lazy, loutish, layabout, lush, laggard, lardass, libertine -- take your pick